Apprentice
by Joanne Mariexx
Summary: "If you join me – if you swear to serve me, if you never speak to your crew again – I will allow them to live. But if you disobey even the smallest request… I will annihilate them, Jim. And I will make you watch." Jim Kirk received an offer that he quite literally couldn't refuse.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't really think the most logical thing to do when you've got several open stories is start another one. But I couldn't help myself. This story is based on the Teen Titans episodes, Apprentice Part 1 and Part 2 (really good show - go watch it!). I may also accidentally include elements from other stories I've read over the years, haha.  
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**Also: You'll notice eventually that I'm terrible at writing fight scenes. I probably should have thought about that before I started a story filled with them. Any help would be great! In the meantime, feel free to imagine your own fight scenes in place of mine. Whatever - I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Also, I love reviews. :)  
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><p><span>Part One: Severance<span> / the action of ending a connection

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><p>At the heart of it all, Jim Kirk was an incredible tactician. As far as the USS Enterprise was concerned, at least. Whenever he was on that bridge, in command and in control, he could lead that ship out of Hell if it came to it. And it nearly <em>had<em> come to it on several occasions, but regardless – pair Jim with that ship and that crew, and he was unstoppable. Armed with quick thinking and intelligence that few could match.

Take that ship and crew away, however – and perhaps Jim Kirk was quite the opposite. Alone, cornered, with no one fighting by his side, his quick thinking turned to rashness. His intelligence reached the end of its rope, gave way to last-ditch efforts and boundless frustration. He was not quite the same tactician – although he always tried. And the fight in him, whether he was alone or not, that was there to stay.

So when he found himself suddenly alone, throwing open the doors to a dim, hazy haunt, he found he was suddenly prepared to either take their newest bastard adversary down or go out in a stubborn blaze of phaser-fire trying. As he stepped into the main floor, however – it seemed that that wouldn't be necessary. Not yet, at least. Instead of a shot to his very-exposed head, the man inside met him with a curt nod and a chilling greeting.

"Captain Kirk. Welcome. I've been expecting you for quite some time; I was beginning to wonder if this planet's indigenous creatures were too much of a challenge."

"Challenge," Jim echoed, raising his phaser and aiming square for the only chest in sight. He took a single step forward. "Not much of one, really. I'm pretty good on my feet."

There was a tilt of the head; but all facial expression was lost underneath the mask. Jim would just have to imagine the poker-face behind it, for now, read the intonation of the man's voice as he answered, "I've noticed. But that phaser is quite unnecessary, Jim."

Jim narrowed his eyes, kept his phaser locked in place. In all honesty, he felt it was quite necessary, indeed. If Starfleet and common sense had taught him anything at all – it was not to listen to intergalactic mercenaries. He said none of this, but let the mask continue.

"Looking for this?"

And with his gloved hand, he held up a remote, a plain black thing with blinking red lights and a single button on the side. Jim's eyes latched onto it immediately, his jaw set tight.

"You want it, Captain - just come and get it."

Down the controller went, and the mask receded back into the shadows, leaving Jim to stare down at the remote with his phaser still aimed at the open air. Carefully, his mind running marathons by now, he took a step forward. Then another. He glanced in every direction as he got close to his prize, then slowly, hesitantly reached for it with his free hand.

His fingers barely brushed the surface of it before he was suddenly on the floor, his phaser flung from his right hand and a dull ache in his side, where his ribs had impacted the concrete. Gracefully, though, he used the momentum of the fall to turn it into a roll, and once he was right-side-up, he climbed to his feet. Unarmed, now, near-defenseless, he assumed a fighting stance.

Yet there was no one in front of him. He looked around, in all directions, but his opponent was nowhere to be found. With a quick glance down at the floor, Jim saw the remote still sitting perfectly in place, barely touched. He considered going for it again, but thought better of it; he was certainly close enough to have a decent chance of grabbing it, but then, didn't he think that the first time? It didn't take all of his intelligence to figure out that he would just end up on the floor again, and that was far from preferable. Instead, he shouted to the empty space around him.

"Too much of a coward to fight me in the light? It's funny, all of Starfleet's records on Victor Pearce lead me to think he was a bit better than that."

And he was on the floor again in a second, following a swift heel to the center of his back, smack in between his shoulder blades. Perhaps he should have seen that coming. That's what he got for talking like that, egging him on. Ah, whatever. That was certainly nothing new.

He pulled himself back up once more, fell right back into his defensive stance. The mercenary in the room, visible now, was standing tall and calm just feet from him. He cocked his head to the side.

"Coward, Captain? Is that how you perceive me? I assure you, I am the opposite."

Jim didn't even have time to process that statement before his head snapped back from the uppercut to the bottom of his jaw. He stumbled back, and as soon as his head came back he swung his arm out with a furious grunt, missing that stupid, shining mask by a wide margin. God, he was _better than that! _He'd had perfect marks in every hand-to-hand combat course he'd ever taken, had taken down larger, tougher opponents before. By all accounts, he should have had that remote in his hand and the chronoton detonator destroyed by now; and he certainly should not have been gripped by the arm and thrown back onto the floor with a sickening _crack_.

Yup, those were his ribs. Fantastic. He could hear Bones' lectures already.

For just a second and a half, he lay there. He glanced over at that control still sitting in its spot in the center of the floor, and didn't even think before he was up, abandoning all logic and diving towards it one last time. And when his fingers suddenly closed around it, he could have whooped for joy. Instead, he yelled in surprise as he was lifted up by his wrist, shouted in pain as his wrist just snapped in the Pearce's tight grip.

"Come on, Jim. I know you're better than that," he said, prying the remote from Jim's hands and, completely unfazed by the admittedly strong kicks to his armor plate, promptly dropping him right back onto the ground. He sighed. "Your combat skills will need improvement."

Jim made a move to stand before he was shoved right back down.

"Oh, no, Jim. Can't have that anymore."

Before Jim could piece together what the man meant, there was another strong kick sent to his very exposed left leg – and another loud, nauseating crack as the femur broke with minimal resistance. A strangled scream and a long string of curse words later, Jim was staring that mask in the eyes, panting and demanding to know what he wanted. Because what the hell was the _point_ of this? What the _hell?_

"Believe it or not, Jim, this is not the over. This is only the beginning."

And Pearce, he crouched in front of Jim and held the remote just in front of the captain's face and watched as it suddenly sparked and smoked and fell apart before his eyes.

"Where the hell –" Jim started, a threat in his voice in spite of his inability to follow through. "Where the hell is the real trigger?"

There was a chuckle in the mask's voice, a goddamned chuckle, as he answered.

"There is no trigger. Because there is no detonator."

The silence in the room was tangible, threatening. If the fact that he'd just walked into a trap wasn't glaringly obvious before, it sure was now. Because walking right up to a mercenary alone was stupid enough when he honestly thought he could win. Looking back, now that he was sporting a few throbbing, broken bones and a sudden feeling of helplessness, it just looked like a suicide mission. _God_, why had he come in alone? Was he that stupid? That reckless?

Regardless – had it all been for nothing?

A holo-screen appeared in front of him, then, produced from the remains of what he thought was the detonator's trigger. Clear as day, he could see the big, intimidating machine they'd been sent to disengage and destroy. Around it stood his landing party, some of the best on the Enterprise; Scotty had a back panel open and was nervously tinkering away at the mechanisms. Bones and Chekov stood close by, evidently the assistants of the week to the ship's engineer. Finally, Sulu, Spock and Uhura stood guard, phasers raised and ready to fight should the need arise. They were all together, as they should be. Not running off alone to get themselves killed, like their genius captain.

"Pay close attention, Captain."

It was a difficult thing to miss. Without warning, and without any provocation from Scotty's hands, what Jim thought was a chronoton detonator began to hiss, spark and deflate. After a few seconds, all that was left working was a small, humming phaser core at the very top of the wreckage. It took only a few short moments to charge.

"No – _no!"_ the scream tore through Jim's throat as he watched that goddamned machine shoot a single blast at each member of his landing party – and each of his closest friends. He couldn't help the sort of half-sob that came out, couldn't bring himself to open his and see them dead. This was all his fault, all his _stupid_ fault because he had to leave them to go be the hero and apprehend a mercenary that he was _obviously_ incapable of fighting on his own. And now, all his friends were dead and he was to blame for it. All of a sudden, he couldn't breathe.

But then he could. Once a hand gripped the back of his head by the hair and forced him to stare back at the screen, he could have cried with relieve. Slowly, each of his friends picked themselves up off the ground, and Bones got right to work giving everyone a cursory once-over. God, Bones – Jim could have gotten the man killed, his best friend. Johanna would be without a father, and whose fault would it have been? And what about Spock, who helped resurrect him, who saved his life? Sudden death on a far-off planet, is that how Jim would repay him? Absolutely not. No, none of his crew would be dying any time soon. If the man in front of him wanted to kill any of them, he'd have to do so over Jim's cold, lifeless body. Somehow, however – the mercenary had other plans.

"Surprised, Jim? Relieved? I wouldn't be. They're nanoscopic probes, Jim, that just got blasted into each of your crewmembers' bodies. As we speak, they're attaching themselves to every cell in their bodies. Really, the chronoton detonator was merely the bait for a much larger plan," his voice echoed through the room, suddenly sending chills down Jim's spine. The man tilted his wrist, angled it towards Jim to reveal a much smaller hand control. "You see – with just a touch of a button, I could destroy your friends. Kill them from the inside out."

"You think you could control them?" Jim said, incredulously. Even immobile, caught in a trap, he was still filled with so much faith, confidence in the people with whom he shared his ship and home. Without thinking twice, he knew they'd rather die than become slaves to this man. A heavy feeling of dread began settling in his chest, however, at the thought. While his crew would almost certainly choose death, the captain would never – not in a million years – allow them to make that decision. His crew lived, no matter what. That was the one rule. The fact, though, still remained. "They'll never listen to you."

And with a sing-song tone in his voice, Pearce clarified.

"This isn't about your crewmembers, Jim. It's about you. It's always been about you."

And the mercenary stood, circled around the captain where he lay propped up on his elbow.

"What do you mean?"

"Announcing the creation of a chronoton detonator, threatening to stop time… sending those creatures to fight you and lead you here. I was testing you, Captain. See, now, for some time I've been searching for… an apprentice. Someone to follow in my footsteps. And Jim Kirk – I've chosen you. Congratulations."

Narrowing his eyes at the figure standing above him, Kirk was resolute.

"Oh, hell, no. If you think for a second I'd ever work for you –"

He was stopped by a single move of Pearce's wrist, a single glance at the switch strapped right by the mercenary's waiting thumb. That feeling of dread, it sank to the bottom of his gut and stayed there, weighing him down to the floor.

"They'll find the probes," Jim rationalized, nearly to himself. "They'll find them. And Bones will get rid of them, you'll see."

"They may find them, Jim. After a few years. Perhaps decades. But for now, they can't feel them. And the probes have been specifically designed to be undetectable by every scanner imaginable. Mark me, Jim. They won't discover them any time soon."

"They'll still come for me." Jim's head tilted downwards as he closed his eyes. He tried as hard as he could to find a way, any way at all to make this right, but he was quickly running out of options. Pearce seemed to know this.

But he agreed with him on that point. "You crew will come, Jim. But regardless of whether or not you're still here but the time they arrive, you won't be leaving with them. I'm telling you very straightforward. It truly is up to you whether your friends live or die."

Jim remained silent, slowly bringing his head up to give that damn mercenary the hardest death glare he could gather. As it were, though, it wasn't enough to instill even the slightest hint of fear in Pearce. And it wasn't enough to give himself even the slightest trace of confidence in that moment.

Pearce cast a shadow over the captain as he spoke, his voice firm and quiet.

"If you join me – if you swear to serve me, if you never speak to your crew again – I will allow them to live. But if you disobey even the smallest request… I will annihilate them, Jim. And I will make you watch. So..."

Something in Jim's chest broke in that single moment.

"Do we have a deal?"

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><p><strong>AN: Told you I'm bad at fight scenes. Another thing I'm struggling with is writing in the past tense, haha. If you read my other work, they're almost all in present. So if you caught me slip up anywhere, point it out to me in all caps. ;) Thanks for reading! And leave a review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So sorry this chapter's a lot shorter than the last one haha - I guess I set the bar too high as far as chapter length goes. I also think this chapter ends a little weak... any tips on how to fix that would be great! And if you spot any characterization flaws, just yell at me for them. I'm not that good with these characters yet, haha. Thanks in advance, and I hope you like the chapter! _(Note: Trigger warning for mention of suicide.)_**

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><p>"Yeah, I'm just fine," McCoy answered stiffly, finally placing his tricorder back into his kit. Just because he was fine, though, did not mean he couldn't be thoroughly annoyed about being stunned with a surprise phaser core. The feeling was never pleasant. "What we get for messing around in there. We're damn lucky we didn't set it off."<p>

Running a hand down his face, he took in his surroundings once more. Though a sudden nervousness was settling in his chest, it came as no surprise; someone was missing.

"Wait, where the hell is Jim? He went to scan the area an hour ago, why isn't he back?"

And in the face of the answerless group before him, McCoy tilted his head toward Spock, wordlessly demanding some form of a response despite the fact that the Vulcan obviously knew no more than he did. Spock said as much, leaving McCoy to just run an exasperated hand down his face and simmer.

"Can't get a single mission done without kicking up dust, can he?"

Whipping his communicator out at an ungodly speed, Spock set to work calling for their missing captain. It became clear, however, after a few minutes of bitter static and radio silence, that Jim would not be answering. An air of tension, nerves settled over the crew.

"His communicator appears to be intact but offline," the first officer said to the waiting remainder of the landing party. "The last signal was sent exactly thirteen minutes ago, approximately three kilometers northwest of our location. Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Sulu, you and I will locate the captain and see that he returns to the Enterprise as undamaged as possible. The rest of you, return to the ship and stand by. As Victor Pearce is still unaccounted for, you should be ready to energize down, should the need arise."

A few curt nods later, Chekov, Uhura, and Scotty had been beamed back up to the ship and the other three were swiftly making their way northwest, navigating through an empty jungle.

And somewhere above them, in the planet's lower atmosphere, something like a storm was beginning to brew.

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><p>Stripped down to nothing, Jim Kirk stood on shaking legs in a silent, dimly lit room. Though his leg had been healed, along with his other broken bones, with Pearce's version of am osteo-regenerator, the widespread ache still remained. His leg still pulsed when he put enough weight on it, his ribs hurt to the touch – and his chest ached with every breath. Although, he was fairly certain that that last part had nothing to do with being thrown against the floor and everything to do with being ripped from his ship and friends by a madman who could murder his crew at the press of a button. But hey – he wasn't a doctor. What did he know?<p>

The clothes he held were heavy in his hands, and wearing them was the very last thing he wanted to do. But the uniform, he figured, was just what came with a forced apprenticeship. He couldn't be picky. So he pulled the suit on, very nearly wincing at the sight of himself in this black and orange outfit that couldn't be further from his usual gold. In place of the Starfleet insignia on his chest was a small, menacing _V_ that felt absolutely sinful to wear. He sighed. The only comfort here is that this was temporary.

But was it really?

Years, Pearce said. Decades. It could take the Enterprise crew decades to find the probes in their bodies, and by that time… would they take him back? And what if the probes were never found, what then? Beyond even the slightest hope of retribution, completely ostracized by his friends and family, on the run from the Federation, where – or who – would Jim be? A mercenary, like Pearce, hopping from planet to planet with each job that came his way? Killing anyone who got between him and his target? Dark, crude and unfeeling like the madman of a mentor – was that what the future had in store for him?

Absolutely not. Staring at the image of himself in a nearby mirror, Jim locked his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

He'd die before that happened. He was sure of it. He'd rip the metal _V _from his very own chest and slit his wrists with the sharpened point, press the barrel of a nearby phaser to his temple and pull the trigger without a second thought, _anything_. He didn't care. Trapped animals tend not to care how they escape, as long as they end up free.

And Jim Kirk was no different.

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><p>"Don't you worry, Jim," Pearce's voice drawled, echoed through the room. He stepped slowly and deliberately around the Enterprise's former captain. "You'll get used to the uniform."<p>

"I doubt that." At least he could still be honest. Rudeness was not the same as disobeying orders; therefore, it was as close to rebellion as Jim could get without inciting murder. He'd take his victories where he could get them, even if his captor did mostly disregard his attitude.

"It will take time, but you'll learn to like this. The thrill of it, Jim. I know how much you love a good thrill."

Jim didn't answer that time. Instead, he just tensed as the mercenary's hand fell gently onto his shoulder.

"There's no need to resent it, Jim. This is your new life. You'll even get to pick your own name – a new identity."

And Pearce just stepped around Jim once more, spinning on his heels to face him.

"What's _your_ name? What was your new identity?" Jim asked carefully, the tone of his voice straddling that of a challenge and that of honest curiosity. The man in front of him kept his face perfectly void of all emotion and answered as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Victor Pearce."

And then he was gone. And Jim was alone.

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><p>When they finally came upon a musty gray building by the opposite edge of the jungle, they entered to discover that it had been deserted. Not a soul to be found, if their scanners and their very own senses were to be trusted.<p>

What they did find, however, in place of the captain and adversary they'd hoped to locate, was a disabled communicator lying in the center of the floor, the light on the front panel blinking slowly, rhythmically. A few streaks of blood decorated the concrete floor nearby – and McCoy didn't need to test it to know that it was Jim's.

With a muffled curse that echoed through the open space, the doctor reached down and picked up the communicator. Aside from a tiny dent on the side, it was – as Spock had said – largely undamaged. He handed the device off to the first officer and took a few steps around the room, trying to imagine some form of a reasonable scenario. His heart beat hard in his ears as he ran through every option he could think of, trying not to land on the one that ended with Spock becoming the ship's captain before they could return home.

Thankfully, that seemed unlikely. The communicator had been placed too perfectly in the center of the floor, and all three of the men seemed to realize this in the same second.

Spock had his own communicator out in an instant.

"Spock to Engineering. Lieutenant Commander Scott, I need you to do a scan of the planet's surface, see if the results will yield the captain's location."

There was a quiet "aye" on the other end, and a long pause. After about a minute and a half, the engineer's incredulous voice came through the line again.

"Sir, the… Jim's no' showing up on the radar. It's like he's up and disappeared."

And if anyone was surprised, no one showed it.

Spock gave a terse nod.

"Very well. We will resume the search from the Enterprise. Three to beam up."

In the blink of an eye, the transporter room was opening up before them in all its glory, and in seconds they were rushing back to the bridge. People don't just disappear from planets in the span of two hours, not without a trace. And if that trace couldn't be found on the planet's surface, they figured, perhaps it could be found in the air.

They were going to find Jim Kirk, even if it was the last thing they ever did. Determination settled into their bones, much like the probes settling into their bloodstreams – and they set right to work.


End file.
